


Not Undevoted

by SatiricalDraperies



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Implied Sexual Content, Mentor/Protégé, Spooky forests, Unhealthy Relationships, where they both still love each other but in an unhealthy long term way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalDraperies/pseuds/SatiricalDraperies
Summary: “I cannot teach you directly,” Melian says, but the twist on her face makes it clear to Galadriel that she’s scheming up some plan. “I can help you find what you are looking for, though. Pack for several nights. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”
Relationships: Galadriel | Artanis/Melian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	Not Undevoted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this! I had such a good time with your prompts and I loved exploring this sort of relationship dynamic :)

“There is nothing more that I can teach you, dear one.”

“Nothing that you _can_ teach me, or nothing that you _will_?” Galadriel is being harsh and she knows it. Melian had made it very clear that there were aspects of her magic that she would be unable to pass on to Galadriel, whether because they could only be accessed by Maiar or because Melian considered them too dangerous or because they had to be _felt_ and not taught.

Melian spoke of those sorts of things a lot, those things that were _felt_. Galadriel had always thought that she was good at feeling what needed to be done. She had survived the Helcaraxe, after all, and you didn’t do that without having decent instincts and more than decent luck. Still, she supposes that there must be a difference between trusting your survival to your unconscious mind and conjuring up great deals of magic without thinking about it. 

One day, she swears. One day, she will make the world move around her.

“I cannot teach you directly,” Melian says, but the twist on her face makes it clear to Galadriel that she’s scheming up some plan. “I can help you find what you are looking for, though. Pack for several nights. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“Thank you!” Galadriel exclaims. She pecks Melian on the cheek and beams.

She’s not smiling anymore, several hours into their march and no closer to finding out where Melian is leading her. This is no part of the forest that she has ever visited before and her sense of direction is tangled like the vines underfoot. They do not follow any path that Galadriel can see. Melian steps lightly, instinctively, and Galadriel wonders if this is what she is supposed to be learning. 

“Shall I lead?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“How can you, when you do not know where we are heading?”

Then she is not supposed to be learning how to feel the path forward. It must be something else. 

She still tries to guess where Melian’s foot will land before each step falls.

The trees object to her presence. She has known it from the start of their journey, when she paused to spot a bird amongst the branches and saw only the ground rushing up to meet her, criss-crossed with roots that want nothing more than to trip her up and swallow her whole.

Melian had frowned at the sound she made when she hit the ground. “Stay close to me,” she had ordered. 

Galadriel had listened. This may be a dark part of the woods, a deeply ancient part, but these are still Melian’s lands and they will not harm her, though they may want to so very desperately.

It scares Galadriel sometimes. She loves Melian’s power and is drawn to her, to it, like a whirlpool that she cannot escape from even if she tries. It is intoxicating and addicting and Galadriel wants nothing more than to be with her always in the hopes that one day she can leave. 

She thinks that the trees must feel the same way. They are caught in Melian’s spell like everything else, unwilling but not undevoted. As long as Melian has power here, they will not act against her or those she chooses to protect. Today, she chooses to protect Galadriel. 

Perhaps that is the lesson. Though everything carries power, the only ally worth having is the most powerful one. 

No. It is not _quite_ enough to be allied with the powerful, whose moods can shatter like glass. You must _be_ the most powerful.

There is no way for Galadriel to ask Melian if that is the truth that she has led her here to find. Melian only teaches her because she knows that Galadriel will never overtake her in power. She is safe, always caught in her role as student no matter how much wisdom and skill Melian may impart. Melian will never be in danger from her and in turn she is free to follow her wherever she may go, even if that place is a forest full of hatred.

Melian stops suddenly and it is only because Galadriel is so attuned to her movements that she stops as well, just short of crashing into Melian’s back.

“We camp here tonight.”

Galadriel waits for Melian to wave a hand and push the forest back to create a clearing. She takes it upon herself to urge the moss forward into a bed, knowing that Melian will like it. 

She does, and she tells Galadriel over and over again as she holds her down between her thighs. Melian takes her pleasure from Galadriel’s mouth, leaving her to chase her own release afterwards with nothing but her quick fingers and desperation. 

The sun doesn’t rise the next morning. It’s light enough to walk onwards but still indistinguishable from the faint glow that never really faded, not even overnight. Galadriel doesn’t mind the perpetual twilight. She’s always had slightly better vision than most but the advantage only comes out on the edge cases when others are rendered completely sightless. Melian, of course, doesn’t seem to notice or care about the dim lighting. She sees the world through different means. 

There’s nothing to pack up at the campsite. Galadriel takes a bite of lembas bread as they leave, the forest eager to reclaim the space Melian had stolen. She’s not sure that she’ll ever grow used to the frantic and hungry way that the vines scramble back in. 

“We’re close,” Melian says, only an hour after setting out by Galadriel’s best estimates. 

“Is there nothing you can tell me?”

“Nothing that I _will_. Have patience, dear.”

Galadriel scoffs. She doubts that patience is her lesson. Melian has other methods of teaching such virtues. 

There is a staircase in the ground, a set of stone steps spiraling downwards past even Galadriel’s vision. She did not notice Melian conjure it up. Whether the staircase is due to her magic or a more ancient force is anyone’s guess. 

“I’m not going down there,” Galadriel says. She can feel the danger that awaits. Is this her lesson? To sense danger and avoid it?

“Yes, my love. You will.”

Galadriel looks over at Melian. This must be her test. Right? Surely Melian feels the sense of foreboding emanating from the structure. She cannot expect Galadriel to walk below ground like nothing is wrong. Even if she expects it, she cannot force her down the stairs. She has failed to meet her expectations before and, though unpleasant, she has survived Melian’s disappointment and can do so again. Her survival is not so certain if she takes the staircase. 

“Come,” Melian says. She does not wait to make sure that Galadriel is following before stepping onto the exposed stone. 

Galadriel follows her. 

The forest floor quickly disappears from above head to be replaced by cold gray stone. Ahead of her, Melian glows slightly. It’s just enough to keep from tripping over the rough hewn steps, whose widths and depths vary as if their builder were determined to not repeat any measurements throughout the design. 

Her focus does not flicker. She can’t afford to let it. Instead, a tendril of her awareness floats ahead with Melian, another traces the steps before her, and more still stretch back up to the surface that seems like a long forgotten dream compared to her present situation. 

Something shifts and Melian falls out of sight, her light fading until the staircase is encased in utter darkness. 

Galadriel moves on instinct, her initial sense of fear rising up again. She rushes towards the spot that Melian disappeared from and kneels. Her fingers grip the edge of the step until she can feel her heartbeat pushing against the unforgiving stone. A wail rises up in her chest before she pushes it back down. This is Melian’s plan. It must be. What would Melian want her to do now?

What does _she_ want to do now?

She wants to see the path in front of her. She wants to apologize for always pushing her for more and then she wants to apologize for apologizing. She wants to know that Melian will be by her side protecting her, always and forever. 

She wants to be with Melian, whatever it takes. 

Galadriel takes a step forward. And then another, and then another, and then she’s tripping over herself as she runs down the staircase, unable to find the spot where Melian fell. 

The staircase ends, finally, in water. Galadriel supposes that the steps may continue deeper but she could not follow them for long without running out of air. Besides, she seems to have reached a landing of sorts where the solid walls enclosing the staircase have opened up into a cave. Glow worms light up like constellations on the low ceiling. They reflect onto the dark water barely a meter beneath them, the blue pinpricks swimming in the ripples caused by Galadriel’s entrance. 

She pauses for a moment, caught up in the beauty of it all. Only a moment, but it feels like a betrayal to stand here, soaked up to the knees, while Melian is lost. 

Onwards, then. She takes off her clothes and wades into the water. 

There doesn’t seem to be any current to follow downstream so she may as well choose a direction at random. Her goal is to find Melian, of course, but she knows that Melian is more than capable of finding her way out of any situation. She must find her way out as well, then. 

The glow worms are concentrated towards the left so she heads right. No one lives in a cave only to hover near the entrance. 

As Galadriel swims, she considers the possibility that Melian will not be waiting for her at the exit. There is a chance, no matter how slim, that she will find herself faced with a world where she is alone. Her family supports her, even loves her, maybe, but they don’t understand her the way that Melian does. There is so much _more_ in this world, hidden just under the surface for anyone to find if they would only look. Galadriel is willing to look as long as she needs to in order to find the secrets that she craves so desperately. She had thought that only Melian could guide her gaze but now—

If Melian is waiting for her at the exit then she will know that there is nothing that can keep them apart. She will always be there to reveal the hidden. But if she is not there, if Galadriel enters a world alone, then Melian will not have seen the glow worms or swam through their waters. Galadriel will have done that on her own. She will have discovered something new that is only _hers_. 

It’s just past dawn when the stream spills out into the forest. The trees seem less hostile here and more inclined to let a bit of light in. Galadriel pulls herself out onto the bank. 

She is alone but not surprised. 

Given that she was lost even before entering the staircase and swimming an undetermined distance, she decides that her best course of action is to wait until nighttime in the hopes of using the stars to guide her way home. Yes, that will do. Besides, she’s tired from the long swim and her last bit of lembas bread was lost to the water alongside her clothing. A bit of rest will do her good. 

She wakes to a figure standing above her. Her vision snaps into focus. 

“Have you found the knowledge you were seeking?”

Galadriel thinks about it. She’s found knowledge, certainly, but she’s not sure that it’s what she was looking for. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. 

“That’s alright, my dear,” Melian helps her to stand up and holds her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You will know soon enough.”

“I think,” Galadriel begins hesitantly. “I think that I have learned something.”

“See? You do not need me to teach you everything.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t need you,” Galadriel mutters. She doesn’t meet Melian’s eyes. Was this the true purpose of their expedition? Or has she come up with a completely unintended takeaway?

“One day,” Melian promises, looking down on her with equal parts sympathy and sorrow and _love_ , if Galadriel would only look up to see it. “One day you will not. One day you will have everything that you have ever dreamed of.”


End file.
